


If You Got It, Flaunt It

by mousapelli



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hotels, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousapelli/pseuds/mousapelli
Summary: Three SASO bingo fills for the "Oh No He's Hot" prompt collection, where both Yuri and Otabek are a mess over each other.





	1. Sweats and a Day Old Shirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pugglemuggle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugglemuggle/gifts).



> Written for 2017 SASO Tic-Tac-Toe round: prompts were you're literally wearing sweats and a day-old t-shirt HOW ARE YOU STILL HOT, you just got out of the shower and UM, and that is the ugliest shirt i have ever seen but somehow you make it work. 
> 
> I mean, that last one just CALLED to me for Yuri.

Yuri is kind of a slob around the apartment. It's not the biggest shock to Otabek, who had years of seeing Yuri's room in selfies and over Skype, clothing costume pieces and equipment tossed this way and that. The lack of attention he pays to dressing himself at home is slightly more of a surprise, because it's barely two weeks of living together before Yuri's dress code defaults to sweats and t-shirts, sometimes the same ones for days running, topped with a palm tree as if even a braid or bun was too much trouble.

Otabek comes home from a long meeting with Yuuri about choreography and is about to call that he's home when he hears the murmur of voices in the kitchen. He kicks off his boots as quietly as he can and slips towards the kitchen in his socks noiselessly, spying like the shamelessly creepy boyfriend that he is.

Yuri is in the kitchen alone, hair pulled up lazily so that it's falling out all over in soft pieces against his neck, sweats double-knotted and still slipping down his hips, wearing the ratty Pyeongchang 2018 T-shirt that Otabek has tried to throw out at least three times. He's wrist-deep in a heap of dough, flour halfway up his arms and smudged across his cheek. His laptop is open on the counter in front of him, facing away from Otabek, and Otabek assumes he has it open on a recipe until his mother's softly-accented Russian comes out from the speakers.

"Don't mix too much or it gets tough. Yes, that's good enough, the same as mine, see?"

"That's it?" Yuri asks, reaching for a towel to cover the bowl.

"That's it," Otabek's mother assures. "Leave it to rise one, maybe two hours, until it reaches the top. If you aren't sure, call back, all right?"

"I'll send a picture when it's done," Yuri promises. Otabek's mother makes an approving noise. And then Yuri adds, " _Raxmet, xanim Altin_ ," and the center of Otabek's chest melts into utter goo. He's crossing the room before he knows what he's doing, Yuri just hitting disconnect on the Skype call before Otabek grabs him from behind.

Yuri yelps, then growls when he sees it's just Otabek. "Beka! You gave me a heart attack, dammit!" Otabek cuts off his protests with a long kiss, arms sliding around Yuri's waist to press them close together from chest to knees.

"You're beautiful, _zhanym_ ," Otabek murmurs, the kiss migrating to Yuri's cheek, his jaw, his temple. "You're too much."

"Uh, you threatened to burn this entire outfit this morning," Yuri points out. He's standing awkwardly, hands still covered in flour and bits of dough. "It's because you heard me just now, right? If all it takes to get you all hot and bothered is a couple words of Kazakh, leggo and let me wash my hands and I can rock your world, buddy."

That's not exactly the reason, but Otabek laughs and releases Yuri with one more quick kiss, leaning against the counter to watch Yuri wash off. He lets his eyes drag down over the holes stretching up from the hem of Yuri's T-shirt, the waistband of the sweats with the elastic clearly giving out, stopping centimeters above Yuri's bruised ankles and heels sticking out.

"Hm, I know like _Meniñ atim Yuriy_ ," Yuri calls over his shoulder. Impatient, Otabek puts his hands back on Yuri's hips, leaning into him from behind and humming low encouragement against the back of Yuri's neck. "And _uyge qos keldiñiz_ and _awejayga deyin_ and _tasbaqa_."

That makes Otabek pause. "Why do you know the word for turtle?"

Yuri turns in his arms, grabs two fistfuls of his T-shirt with wet hands and kisses Otabek soundly.

"So that you aren't the one who can use stupid pet names." Yuri slips from Otabek's grip and is already through the doorway before Otabek can stop laughing long enough to follow, calling over his shoulder, "Hurry up, _meniñ tasbaqa_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Kazakh is from google translate/googling around so hope it's not the worst. the Kazakh Yuri knows is thanks Mrs. Altin, my name is Yuri, welcome home, to the airport, and of course, my turtle.


	2. Just Got Out of the Shower

"Yura," Otabek hollers, leaning out the door of the hotel bathroom, "do you see my deodorant out there, it's not in my…what?"

Yuri is sprawled on his stomach across Otabek's bed, thumbs on his phone, but frozen looking up at Otabek, mouth partially open.

"What?" Otabek says again. He hadn't meant to tease, but Yuri's reaction is flattering to say the least, and Otabek feels like he should make the most of it whenever he catches Yuri somehow off-guard. It's only fair since Yuri takes his breath away without warning about twenty-seven times a day.

"Nothing!" Yuri says, defensive. He looks back down at his phone, but a second later they dart back up again. "What?!"

"I asked you what first," Otabek says patiently. Yuri's cheeks are going pink. It's hard not to laugh at him outright. "You're allowed to look, you know."

"I'm not looking!" Yuri screeches, which is even funnier because he absolutely is. Smirking, Otabek lets go of his towel. "Stop that! Get dressed!"

"I'm trying to, but I can't find my deodorant." At this point, it's all tease as Otabek strolls towards the bed, looking around. He casually strikes a pose which JJ always calls "the superhero," fists on his hips, legs slightly parted. "I just don't know where it could be."

"Bekaaaaaa," Yuri whines in defeat, dropping flat to the bed to bury his face in the comforter. Even the tips of his ears are red.

Chuckling, Otabek climbs into bed beside him and curls up along his side. Yuri groans into the bed when Otabek strokes fingers down the back of Yuri's T-shirt, feeling each bump of his spine one by one. "I like it when you look."

Yuri turns his head just enough to eye Otabek with one suspicious green eye over his elbow. "It's embarrassing."

"Why?" Otabek asks, dragging his hand back up and starting over.

"Because I see you in clingy skating shit all the time and it doesn't make me go all _euuuurgh_."

"That's work and this is us in a hotel room with a whole," Otabek glances over Yuri, "twenty-five minutes before Victor and Yuuri will be down here pounding on our door for dinner. And for the record, you wearing my T-shirts always makes me go all _euuuurgh_."

"Shut up, you do not." Yuri cuddles closer.

"I do it on the inside." Otabek leans in closer, lips against Yuri's ear. He slides his hands up the back of Yuri's shirt, his skin smooth and warm under Otabek's palms. "But I know how to solve that problem."


	3. The Ugliest Shirt

"It's _Versace_ ," Yuri informs him, voice deep with scorn at Otabek's lack of taste.

Otabek doesn't even bother to hide the smile as he rests his chin in his hand, elbow on his desk. "Just saying the name of the label half an octavee lower doesn't make the clothing more attractive. There's fourteen patterns on that thing."

"And I rock all of them, thank _you_ very much," Yuri sniffs, one hand on his hip. He turns in a circle as if Otabek has asked him for a 360, pausing with his back to the laptop to look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised like he's daring Otabek to say it's ugly again.

The thing is, and here's how Otabek knows he's done, in way too deep, Yuri doesn't look good in it. Not the shirt especially which is probably damaging Otabek's retinas permanently, but the jut of his hip and sharp look over his shoulder and the curve of his ass in the black skinny jeans just under the hem, the spill of his half-loose hair over his shoulder. If Otabek were there he could forgive the shirt, wouldn't care about it even an iota, because he'd already have his hands on Yuri, on his shoulders and face and waist and thighs. He'd press his mouth to Yuri's and steal all of his air until Yuri was _racing_ to peel that monstrosity off and fling it to the ground.

And then Otabek would be safe because he's well-acquainted enough with Yuri's housekeeping habits to know that once something is on the floor, it's much more likely to be kicked under the bed than to ever make it back into the closet.

"What are you smiling about?" Yuri demands, turning to face the laptop squarely.

"The idea of you wearing that out in public," Otabek lies, just to make Yuri glare at him. He's so cute when he's annoyed, and far too easy to get him there. "Seriously, what did you pay for that thing?"

"Oh, listen to you, Mr. It's Only Money I'll Fly to Canada For the Weekend If I Want To." Yuri rolls his eyes. "For your information, it was a freebie from this morning when I, your attractive and stylish boyfriend, did an exclusive photoshoot for them." Yuri crosses his arms, smug. "What do you have to say about that, huh?"

"I'd say," Otabek leans in towards his camera just a bit, dragging his eyes down Yuri oh so slowly, "that I'd much more like to see you take that thing _off_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this](http://www.sosoyeah.com/wp-content/uploads/versace_haas2.jpg) is Yuri's Versace shirt.


End file.
